O' Children
by anempiregame
Summary: "He follows you down the road; his sturdy shoes kicking up the dirt." A moment between Ernst and Moritz, set directly after Moritz's expulsion.


Author's Note: I'm not sure exactly what this is. A tumblr friend asked for Moritz telling or trying to tell Ernst that he's been expelled and this is what I came up with. I didn't intentionally imply any romantic feeling between the two but if its read like that, that's alright too. I'm just proud of this and make of it what you will!

I'm always thankful for CC and general comments and feedback.

Disclaimer: I do not and never have claimed to own these characters. They are the property of their creators and so on and so forth. The title is the same as a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds song, which I was listening to while writing this.  


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You shove your hands into the pockets of your blazer and are dimly aware that your fingers are rubbing over a piece of chalk and crumbling the ends to a fine dust that will settle at the bottom of your pocket and coat the lining dirty. Oh well, it really doesn't matter much now. You pass the wooden door of the classroom that had become your own private hell for the last few months. The floorboard creeks as you stop in front of the door; you briefly consider going in and scrawling a message on the blackboard but you cannot think of anything exceedingly sarcastic or articulate except 'fuck'.

No, no, Melchior was the articulate one. You trailed behind blindly mumbling at your shoes whenever someone spoke to you. Perhaps they were speaking to Melchior all along, you suppose, running your hand over the ancient wood of the door. You scrape your ragged, bitten nails across the pine. That was a trait your father couldn't beat into submission like your stutter. You ball your hand into a fist, fingers pressing deep into your palm. Fuck them if they don't want you, right? Right. You don't need any of this. It was never for you anyway. Something deep inside your mind tells you there are plenty of things that aren't for you. You used to ignore comments like that but as their frequency increased you learned to live with them, then expect, then welcome. The fingers in your pocket snap the chalk into two; you bow your head beneath the ceiling beams.

It's surprisingly bright out. Ironically bright out, Melchior would say. Irony. Had you, they, discussed irony in class? You had probably been asleep. You blink and after your eyes have adjusted to the light your notice Melchior isn't leaning up against the school fence and idly eating an apple like he usually is after you've been held after. The wind stirs against your face and you suddenly don't care that your closest friend has abandoned you again as he so frequently has the last few weeks. You think of wondering down to the river and seeing if Ilse is there, think of seeing her bare breasts bob just under the surface of the water. You shiver. No, perhaps being alone is best. Yet, you are you and fate has never been kind to you. Thus, Ernst Robel catches sight of you and scrambles up off the grass and hurries towards you.

Anyone, you beg, anyone but Ernst. Ernst who can read people as easily as Latin flows off Hanschens's tongue. Ernst who prays and is devoutly good. Ernst who always has had a kind smile and a broken piece of peppermint for you. _'Mama used to give it to me when I was sick. I thought… it, it might help.' _He would whisper, leaning forward to place his mouth right by your ear. You shiver again at the memory of the warm breath against the shell of your ear and how it felt. You think those were the only rules Ernst ever consciously broke and he did it for you.

You can't look at him right now. You want to feel anger towards him but you can't. It's displaced and bitterly wrong to blame him for your shortcomings even if he'll be granted a benefit from them. He says your name and you can't help but look at him, so few do and despite everything you don't want to become one of those who ignore the frail, often sickly boy.

"How… how did your meet-meeting go? I was worried when you just left class. It seemed so strange," he murmurs softly as his fingers curl around the binding of a worn sketchpad. There's charcoal on his finger and a transfer smudge on his cheek. You wonder if he's been drawing Hanschen's smirk again.

"It was alright. No one really asks how things go. Thanks…" you trail off. You want to say more but your head is foggy and you're starting to lose it. You scrub a hand across your face. You weren't this tired a few minutes ago. You offer Ernst a small smile and try to make it sincere before brushing past him. You want to cry but no, no, you're too big for that now. You're not a child anymore. You hear Ernst swallow hard behind you. He follows you down the road; his sturdy shoes kicking up the dirt.

He's speaking again, to you, in his slow and soft voice and his fingers are curling around your shoulder, "No one really asks me either. So, I figured I could ask you and you could ask me. If we're alone we may as well go at it together."

Your stomach churns and you think your going to be ill. You feel like you've somehow let him down. You think of telling him that you've been expelled but you can't seem to find the words to say it. It's another achievement on your list of shortcomings; it physically aches to think of it. You breathe hard through your nose and blink a few times to get the world back into focus.

You cough and wet your lips, "I'll walk you home. If you want, that is." You're not surprised when he nods. He attempts to entertain you with a story about his younger sister but it's all you can do to focus on the ground in front of you. You pay enough mind to force a laugh in all the right places and it's so much more for Ernst benefit than yours. Then again, you think bitterly, it's the little things that help. You round the bend of the road and through the tangle of trees you see the small, sloped roof of the Robel home.

Ernst looks down and scuffles the toe of his boot in the dirt. You know he's embarrassed by the house with it's chipped paint shutters and dingy windows. You know he's heard what Bobby Maler and the other boys have whispered in the hall. He asks you again as he unlatches his weather worn gate if you're alright. You jerk your head up and down and take in a sharp breath. You're unable to lie to him so all you do is nod like a puppet. Ernst looks at you and chews the corner of his lip as he does in class while mulling over an algebraic problem. He sighs once and nods. A nod that matches yours. You wonder if you should be asking him if he's the one that's alright.

"If you say so," Ernst mutters and you feel he isn't really as naïve as the other boys say. There's a look in his eyes that says he isn't. He looks down the road at the leaves stirring in the grass and you want to stay with him, to be able to ask him if things are alright as he has asked you. You can't though. You just want to curl in upon yourself and close your eyes. You reach out and with the corner of your blazer cuff and rub away the charcoal stain from his red cheek. You wonder if you imagine his impulsive lean into your touch. It doesn't matter. You've lost the energy or will to judge others and god you're so tired.

Ernst turns and walks a few steps towards the small house. You idle against his gate watching his tall back retreat all the way. Oh well, it really doesn't matter much now. He calls back to you. Some goodnight greeting and a promise to make it through the Latin with you tomorrow. You wonder if he'll have to read your passage as well as his or if it'll be passed onto someone else. Oh well, it really doesn't matter much now.


End file.
